


get out alive

by orphan_account



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, Daddy Kink, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, M/M, Mafia AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-18
Updated: 2014-12-01
Packaged: 2018-02-13 16:05:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2156742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris Evans, mob boss, secret softie. He meets a Romanian boy covered in blood and is immediately smitten, coaxing him to his side.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. the boy in blood

**Author's Note:**

> THE MAFIA AU EVERYONE HAS BEEN BUGGING ME ABOUT. Sorry the first chapter is a LITTLE short. I didn't know how to end it and AND second chapter will be longer! Still working on outline, but this is pretty ensemble cast.

He is small and lithe and pale and absolutely red with blood. His teeth glint and his eyes are like ice on a summer day, blue and clear and cold. And he is glorious, a blur of motion with lean limbs and bared teeth and guttural swears in a language Chris’ ear can’t recognize.

His chest heaves when he’s done, the bodies of six men, at least twice his size, at his feet, and he looks at Chris like a challenge, jaw jutted out and expression set and unafraid. 

"If you’re going to try and kill me, I will not go willingly," he says, voice slow and thickly accented, but clear. Chris smiles and shoves his hands in his pocket, making his stance relaxed and nonthreatening.  


"Nah, kid, but how about a shower, warm meal, and a bed to sleep in? I could use a man like you around."

The boy looks startled for a long moment, eyes wide and sharp with surprise. It clears very quickly into the tense set of his jaw and his eyelashes covering most of his beautiful blue eyes. "I will not be your slave," he hisses, that thick accent making the words near impossible to understand, but Chris gets the gist. 

"Of course," he says, smiling, that charming, bright grin he's used to win over countless clients. The one Scott called his 'businessman smile.' "I promise, just a warm meal and a comfortable bed." With me, he resists the urge to say, licking his lips. Slowly, Chris, take it slow.

The boy hesitates, glances down at all the bodies around him, and slowly nods. 

Chris grins.

***

Chris has had the bloody, beautiful boy from the alley way in his house for a week now. He doesn’t even know his name. He leaves him be, as much as he can, and really the only time he ever sees him is for dinner, when he’s home. He looks better, healthy, cheeks pink, and without the blood, Chris can see the striking blue eyes, the angular jaw, and the ruffled dark hair. And he can also see, even through the loose sweatpants the kid always wear, the ripple of muscle every time he walks and stretches and moves.

It doesn’t take him long to realize that the kid doesn’t talk much because he doesn’t know English that well. He’s Romanian, he knows that much, and he’s wary as hell, always looking at Chris like he expects him to demand payment, which, isn't going to happen. Even if he can't get the kid to join him, he isn't gonna kick him out. Chris is a little nicer than that, sometimes.  


Tonight, the meal is a medium rare lamb, reddish pink at the center, with potatoes in a light pesto sauce and a salad with his favorite dressing. He reminds himself to give his chef a raise as he takes a bite of the meat, watching the boy cut his food into neat little bites. (Why he even calls him that, he doesn't know. Kid can't be more than three years younger than him. Something about those big innocent blue eyes.)

"Hey, kid," he says, interrupting the mostly comfortable silence that has identified their dinners. He looks up, immediately wary, all startled blue eyes and hair falling in front of his face. Chris hides a smile. "You got a name? I can't keep calling you 'kid' in my head."

The boy watches him for a long time, slim fingers picking at the napkin. "Sebastian," he says finally, slow and thick. "My name is Sebastian."

Chris grins at that. "Hey, Sebastian. I'm Chris." Sebastian smiles at him very slightly before he glances at his food, concentrating on cutting the meat into small bites. While Chris would normally feel offended, Sebastian eats every single thing, nearly picking the bone clean. Chris likes that.

"You comfortable?" he asks, taking another bite of the potatoes. He chews quietly as Sebastian looks up, those blue eyes startled.

"Yes," he says. "Very much so." He pauses, white teeth sinking into his lower lip and chewing for a brief moment. "Thank you." Chris just nods, smiling, wanting the kid to feel welcome and happy. He's seen him fight, all lean strength. He wants him on his team. But he can wait. Scott was wrong when he said that Chris was the least patient person. Maybe for food, but for Sebastian? He can wait.

***

Chris has started teaching Sebastian English. He knows a little already, watches lots of TV in the big room Chris has set up for him, and Chris knows enough Romanian for them to be able to communicate more or less effectively. But he’s seen how Sebastian seems to shrink in on himself whenever he happens to run into one of the many men Chris has meetings with in the house. And how they ask him questions and he can barely answer without sounding like an illiterate fuck.

He knows that everyone thinks Sebastian is a new kept boy. Which, it’s not like Chris would say no to that, but that’s not what Sebastian is. Sebastian is whip smart and dangerous and filled with this crackling sort of intensity that Chris has decided he loves. And, Sebastian is starting to trust him. (Probably cemented by the fact that Chris bought him a set of daggers after his trip to Istanbul to take care of some business. The boy’s face had lit up so sweetly and he’s seen him walk around casually spinning one of the knives in his hand.) 

So, now Chris wants to teach him English. Wants to help him hide his accent, so people take him more seriously. He still hasn’t said yes to the proposal, to becoming part of Chris’ team, his personal bodyguard, but he’s seen the airy distaste when Seb looks at his bodyguard now—a huge, hulk of a man with beady eyes—and knows he’s thinking that he can do better. And he probably can. Chris has watched Seb in the gym a few times, seen the fluid grace of a panther when he moves and strikes, the quick flash of a cheetah whenever he runs—Chris really likes what he sees.  


And it leads to this, a casual dinner where they’re both sitting on the couch in front of the TV, Seb in his customary sweatpants and black t-shirt, Chris in similar attire. It’s nice, being able to dress down every once in awhile and not be judged for it. He thinks Sebastian appreciates that too, the trust he shows there. 

"So, you want to teach me English better?" he says, that voice thick with that rough, curt accent. He eyes him appraisingly, wiping his mouth stained with red spaghetti sauce. Chris nods, sucking a noodle into his mouth. He makes a little sound and dips his head. "No accent?" 

"Only if you want. A lot of people think you’re stupid because of it. It bothers me," he says lightly, flashing Sebastian a little grin. Sebastian is like a cheetah, he muses, all long-legged coltishness and wary eyes, sharp teeth like a predator. 

"And if I want to be…" He looks like he’s struggling with finding the word, face creased in thought. "Subestimat…Underestimated?”  
Chris chuckles, appreciative of that flash of intelligence. “You’re always gonna be underestimated. You’re small and you’ve got an innocent sort of face. Doesn’t mean they have to think you’re stupid, too.”

Sebastian grunts and takes another aggressive bite of pasta, chewing it slowly as he thinks. He stares at the TV without really watching it, letting the sharp sound of the clang of swords fill the air. “Da,” he says finally, glancing at Chris through under a sweep of dark lashes. “Yes. I’d like that.”

***  
Sebastian had said yes. Improbably, wonderfully. He'd said yes. He'd taken one look at his current bodyguard, disdain marring those pretty features, and had nodded, short and brisk. Chris grins.  


His English was coming along, accent sliding in and out of consonants and strong vowels--some days it was better than others. Chris had had to put him through his paces with his current bodyguard. You know, just in case, but he hadn't been surprised when Sebastian had knocked him flat on his ass with a blade to his throat in less than thirty seconds. He'd demoted him very quickly to guarding one of the CEOs in his pocket. He hadn't been a terrible guard, no need to kill him, and he was loyal. Sebastian was just better.

Of course, Chris didn't go out of the house too often at the moment, all his meetings conducted in his office on his grounds so Sebastian could find his footing. Sebastian had seemed grateful for this, and would stand alert in the shadows whenever he discussed business with someone, eyes bright and wary. Chris found that he enjoyed having Sebastian at his back, the Romanian occasionally muttering sarcastic things in the language and Chris--who had been learning from Sebastian like Sebastian had been learning from him--would try not to laugh. Common comments would be about the size of the men's guts and their greasy hair and "obviously a woman who is far too beautiful for him on the side."

Chris liked that side of him, the side that joked. He hoped to bring it out more, to coax Sebastian, with those twinkling eyes and the hint of a grin, to blurt out a joke. Frank nearly always snorted at them, and tried to hide it, because as Chris' head of security, he needed to be stoic, but Sebastian was damn funny and he wouldn't hold it against Frank to laugh at his jokes. 

"Your boy's pretty hilarious," Frank tells him quietly in the lull between meetings. He'd sent Sebastian on a background check of the man in the next meeting, someone who'd claimed himself a CEO of a company he'd never heard of.

"He's not my boy," Chris replies, crossing his arms. Frank snorts again, arching an eyebrow.

"Yeah, sure thing, boss." 

Chris scowls at him. "How is it you can call me that and still sound like the most insolent person around? I can have you killed, you know!"

"And lose a loyal as hell employee?" Frank smirks at him, flicking his nose. "Yeah, right."

Chris hates his employees. Really. They're all terrible. The door opens and Chris looks up, Sebastian's somber face coming into his view.

"Your meeting is cancelled," he tells him, like he hasn't just committed murder because his potential client lied to him about being as important as he was. Chris takes everything back. Sebastian is his favorite.

"You are a lifesaver," he says gratefully, and Frank eyes them as Sebastian lights up at the praise, arching an eyebrow. Chris gives him an annoyed look. He doesn't need Frank's judgement calls right now. "Spaghetti night?" he asks, grinning when Sebastian nods eagerly. The kid adores spaghetti, something about it being both so quintessentially American and Italian makes him giggle every time he eats it. Chris likes Sebastian's giggle. Will try to listen to it every damn day. He resists the urge to call his bodyguard adorable while he's cleaning his bloody knife.

That's not professional, Chris. You're the boss here. Act like it, Chris, you goddamn meatball. Chris bites his lip, watching Sebastian quietly. Sebastian, feeling his boss' gaze, glances up and waves his knife at him, glinting and shining in the light. Chris wants to swoon. He hates himself a little bit.

Fuck. It isn't his fault his goddamn bodyguard is so pretty while he's killing people for him.


	2. burning on the inside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian proves his worth, Scott flirts, and Chris gets jealous.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER 2 YEAH. I said this was gonna be longer but this was pretty rushed. I wanted to get it out before I head down to Puerto Rico, so here you go!

The first time Sebastian proves his worth is during a meeting with the owner of a catering business Chris is trying to acquire for luncheons and formal affairs. It is supposed to be a routine lunch in a private room at the man's restaurant, and it is Sebastian's third time out of the house. He lounges at the table next to Chris', looking like a bored jungle cat, and Chris sees the caterer throw him a disapproving glance, causing him to hide a smile. Just because Sebastian looks like he's off duty and relaxing, doesn't mean he is, and he's already learned to just let Sebastian position himself how he wants.

In this case, Sebastian happens to be in prime view of all the exits and can stare at the waiter whenever he comes in with those sharp eyes. Chris chats quietly with the man, and he thinks he's nearly got him swayed--it's all in the softening of the eyes and the resigned expression, like he knows this isn't really a choice--when the waiter comes in again with a water pitcher. 

It's all a blur from then, Sebastian leaping up and knocking the pitcher out his hands, using the splash of cold water and distraction ensued to disarm him with ease, pushing him against the floor. With one hand pinning him down, he takes the gun from the waiter's hand, clicking the safety back on. He looks up at Chris, the picture of liquid grace, like he isn't holding down a would-be assassin with just the force of his strong and lean arms.

Chris leans down to peer at the man, all slicked back hair and neatly trimmed mustache. "That was a bad idea," he says mildly, absently stepping on the man's finger, hearing it crunch under his shoe. The man muffles a cry, trying to squirm away from under Sebastian's grip. Sebastian's lips thin and his knuckles turn white as his grip tightens.

"He might look small," he murmurs, casting Sebastian a fond look. "But you shouldn't underestimate him. Give me one good reason why I shouldn't have you killed right now." The caterer is quiet next to the puddle of water, the expression on his face horrified at the scene. Good, maybe now he can finally get the guy to just say yes to his terms. Chris sighs when the man stubbornly says nothing. 

"Basha, his other finger, please." Seb shifts his weight so he's holding the man down with his hips and effortlessly breaks another finger, looking darkly pleased when he starts writhing. "I'm going to keep doing that, and then I'll move onto your toes, and then maybe your nose until you tell me," he says pleasantly, nodding to Sebastian again. This time, Seb breaks his thumb. He makes it through a whole hand and the first two fingers of the other before the man starts talking, about a man who calls himself W. Chris listens intently the whole time and once he's sure he's gotten everything he can get from the men, he motions Seb off of him, cocks his gun and shoots him in the head. 

"Call Scarlett for clean up, Bash," Chris says, stepping over the body to the caterer with a wolfish grin. "Now, where were we?"

***

Chris absolutely despairs the day he introduced Sebastian to Scott. He’d promised to go visit him at his new restaurant (funded by yours truly, but doing well completely on its own), and of course he’d taken Sebastian with him. He never goes anywhere without his trusty bodyguard.

They’d got on like a house on fire, Scott bulldozing through Sebastian’s initial shyness and wariness, offering him his homemade tiramisu. (How the hell did Scott even know that was his favorite dessert, he’ll never know. Sometimes his brother scares him.) After that, Sebastian was in love, flushing whenever Scott flirted or hesitantly making jokes. 

(The tightening in his stomach whenever his brother fluttered his eyes and touched Sebastian’s shoulder, causing the pink blush to crawl up Sebastian’s cheeks is not something he wants to look into, thank you). 

"He’s a cute kid," Scott tells Chris over coffee, Sebastian puttering around in the kitchen. "Much nicer than your old guy." Chris snorts and adds a few cubes of sugar.

"Yeah, I know."

"Smaller, too. Is he better?" He only sounds a little doubtful. 

"You don’t know him," Chris says, eyebrow arched. "He can take down a three men by himself in less than thirty seconds." He shakes his head. "It’s impressive as hell."

Scott’s eyes linger on Sebastian’s lean frame and long fingers when he reaches up to grab something. “You mind if I…?” He wiggles his eyebrows.

"Yes," he says shortly and Scott’s eyebrow raises.

"Ooookay, then." He smirks knowingly and Chris flushes, wondering how his brother can still make him feel like the anxious teenager he was. He’s older than him for Christ’s sake. 

"What?" Chris says, absolutely not pouting. Scott opens his mouth to answer when Sebastian slides into the seat next to Chris, sipping his coffee and eating a butterfinger. 

"I like this place," he tells Chris matter-of-factly. "But there are too many vulnerable spots and you might get hurt." He points at Scott.

"That's what I always say!" Chris says, looking at Scott smugly. He rolls his eyes and waves his hand. 

"So get me really discrete waiters that also are black belts in karate or something. I don't wanna look like a secret lair, Chris," he glares at him. 

"I just wanna keep you safe!"

"So be subtle about it!"

Sebastian watches their interaction with laughing blue eyes, relaxed and comfortable in a way he's hardly ever been before. Scott shoots him a knowing look and Chris just flips him off, scowling at Scott's laughter before they discuss the different ways they're going to fix his security issues, the smell of hot lasagna and sweet coffee lingering in the air.

\---  
It is three weeks later and Chris is fucking attracted to Sebastian. He has to admit it now, something Scott has been trying to get him to say since he met Sebastian and notices Chris’ reactions when Scott flirted with him.

But Chris hadn’t wanted to admit it.

He can’t do that now.

Sebastian moves with a fluid grace that the rest of his team would kill for, sparring with Scarlett at Chris’ request to see how he does against his Right Hand. He’s damp with sweat and both he and Scarlett have taken off their shirts, Scarlett trim and fit in her dark sports bra and Seb shirtless and gleaming, all lean muscles. Chris traces the path a drop of sweat makes as it slides from Seb’s temple down his jaw, dripping to his collarbone.

Chris shifts, trying to think of _anything_ else. Literally anything. Frank, head of security, gives him a look, the curl of his lips slow and teasing, and Chris glares. He’d seen Sebastian give Frank considering looks, and it’s just a good thing he genuinely likes Frank and that Frank is married or else he wouldn’t be safe either.

(He briefly considers the fact that he might have too many friends for a mafia boss. And then mentally shrugs).

"Just go for it, boss," Frank chuckles, eyebrow arched. 

"I hate when you call me that," he scowls, Frank older and the way he says it always has a mocking lilt.

He grins, elbowing him. “You love it, boss. And, plus, kid likes older guys. Keep the beard and you’re gold.”

Chris thanks god for the aforementioned beard and the way it hides his blush.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would love some feedback!


	3. one day, you'll end up like me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here we delve into Sebastian's backstory, and we have the beginnings of what may be a bigger plot. Also, guest appearance!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: There's implied sexual molestation and prostitution of a sort. Nothing is actually outright explicit, but it's hinted at.
> 
> The dialogue is in italics to signify that they are never speaking in english, but either Russian or Romanian.

Sebastian can feel the cold crawl up his spine, and he blows on his shaking fingers, not wanting to lose the feeling in them. He's pressed close to the others, all packed in and surrounded like sardines in a can. The smell is not much better than that either, and he's pretty sure he's standing in urine. It's only his first week at the camp and he's not quite at the bottom of the totem pole. A man had looked him up and down and had lifted his chin with broad and heavy hands before he muttered something guttural in Russian to his colleague and pointed to a group of people around his age.

 _You have pretty eyes, they said_ , a girl tells him quietly when he gets pushed in with them into the railcar. _We all have something pretty here._ She looks tired and thin, but she has naturally pink lips and a husky, quiet voice and her hair, if it was clean, would tumble in natural caramel-colored curls. _If we don't complain, sometimes they feed us a little bit more._ Seb swallows hard, clenching his fingers into fists, nails digging into the skin and leaving little crescent shapes.

He's just sixteen and he's exhausted and he doesn't know when he'll eat next, listening to the drone of the moving train. He doesn't know where they're going or what they're being used for. He just knows that one minute he was asleep in his bed and his mom and stepdad had been making plans to leave Romania and the next, he was here, with a flash of his father's blue eyes and a pad of money passed between those men and his dad's hands. His stomach growls lowly and he jolts when someone elbows him for leaning against them too heavily. 

" _Scuze_ ," he mutters, and the girl who had translated for him earlier nudges him. 

_Here_ , she says, giving him a small piece of bread. He looks at her questioningly and she gives him a hollow smile. _Reward for my duties to my home country_. Her Romanian is harsh but it's passable and he takes a small bite of the food.

 _I'm Margarita. From Russia. You aren't_ , she says, not as a question. He shakes his head and swallows his piece of food.

 _Sebastian. Romania._

She nods and smiles a little bit. _We have had a few of you come in. They don't last long._ Sebastian shudders at her words but she just squeezes his hand. _Eat. We stop soon_.

\-----

The first time Sebastian is called to "perform his duty for his new nation," as Margarita had called it, is a few months in. He knows he's gaunt and pale and some days he can barely walk much less do anything else, but they pull him aside and send him to the washrooms, where he's told to get as clean as he can. He scrubs his skin until it's pink and raw and he glances at himself in the mirror. His cheekbones protrude and there are dark, deep circles under his eyes, and his lips are red from the cold. He is given a robe and nothing else, and he sits shivering and waiting, until a man comes in, his heavy gut hanging over the waistband of his pants and a sharp twirling mustache on his face. He eyes him with a kind of hunger that makes Sebastian want to hide, and says a few short words to the guard with him, who glances at Sebastian with quiet green eyes, something like sympathy etched in them. Sebastian sort of wants to hit him.

Forcibly, he's yanked up and marched to an ornate, beautiful bedroom, filled with the kind of luxury that Sebastian could barely dream of having back when he was at home with his mother, much less now. Gold garnishes the edges of the desk and and accents the drawers, and there's a bottle of fancy vodka in a crystal serving glass. The man sits heavily on the bed, decked out with satin sheets in silver and red. Sebastian bites his lips and he glances once behind him, catching the guard's eye again before the door is closed behind him.

Sebastian drops his robe and thinks of freedom.

\---

Sebastian listens quietly to the guards as they walk around, all of them chatting in Russian. He’s had to pick that up through the years here, though his native tongue is Romanian, but he likes to know what these people are going to do to him before they do it, so he can prepare. So, crash course in Russian for him.

Someone nudges him and he glances at Margarita's dirty face.

 _What are they going to do with us?_ She asks him in Russian, voice tired.

 _I don’t know yet. Go to sleep, Margosha,_ he tells her, letting her lean her bony body against his side. Of all the others, Margarita is the only one he’s bonded with at all, the girl tough and whipsmart and just as willing to do whatever it takes to get out of there. 

They’d been planning for years. He wraps his arm around her skinny shoulders and kisses the top of her head when the guards aren’t looking, knowing they disapprove of interpersonal relationships between the “workers.”

Soon.

\---

Sebastian wakes up to screams, high and ragged and piercing. It isn't uncommon for that to happen, but today these are particularly bad, and there's the muffled sound of a whip on skin. He flails his hand out wildly, keeping his eyes shut and accidentally hitting a few people who just grunt tiredly before another hand curls with his own and squeezes. Immediately, he calms, and he slits his eyes open to see Margarita curled up on his side and blinking at him. She puts a finger to her lips, eyes cutting over to the guard watching them. 

It's then that Sebastian misses his mother with a fierce ache, and hopes like hell her new husband had gotten her out of the country like they had planned before his birth father and taken him away from his own home and sold him to pay off his debts. Seb shivers and he hunches his shoulders, pressing his face against Margarita's neck and just breathing, in and out, slow and deep. He wishes he had been old enough to know what his father had done that had made his mother so scared, tight-lipped and tense whenever he'd asked about him. 

_He's of no importance to us anymore, Basha,_ she had told him in her lilting, soft Romanian, stroking his hair. _Let's go over the chords on the piano again, hmm?_

He falls back to sleep with the remembered sound of her long fingers pressing on black and white keys, music that had soared in colors and waves around them, the screaming fading into the background.

\---

It’s been months since Sebastian and Margarita finalized their plan and today was the day. Thin to the bone and exhausted, pale pallor on their faces and Margarita’s wrists were so thin it hurt Seb to look at her, much less think about the things they used her for, but they are ready.

They’ve been stuck on the ship, in the deep spaces, all crammed together and just so fucking tired, but today is the day they land and today is the day Margarita and Sebastian kiss this place goodbye. A guard, one Seb had worked very hard to seduce and sway, had slipped them a couple of knives and a list of the times that they were being transported away to their new owners. 

A screech and a few bumps that rocked all of the dead-eyed people together is their signal, and Seb glances at Margarita wordlessly. Her mouth thins into a determined expression and she nods, slipping her hand in his. Seb and Margarita worked well together and on the list, it had indicated that the two were being shipped together since they worked as a pair for the most part.

As all of the people are herded out, Margarita sticks close to Seb, who glances around through the dirty fringe of his hair, waiting for the guard, nameless, but pretty and sweet for a Russian, to set up their distraction.

Sure enough, there’s a commotion and everything becomes a confusing harsh clash of Russian and stomping boots and Seb tugs Margarita away from the group. Another guard spots them and shouts out them angrily but Margarita and Seb are off, adrenaline making them faster and stronger than they should be, using the chaos of the shipyard to help them slip away, mingling with the homeless and the junkies.

They run for what seems like hours, disappearing into the dark alleys and dirty streets of the city, and finally they collapse on the ground, Seb so dizzy he’s seeing spots in his eyes.

 _We did it,_ Margarita whispers over and over, burying her face into his neck. They did it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the long wait, but I hope you've enjoyed this. Thanks for sticking with me and we'll get back to Chris in the next chapter!

**Author's Note:**

> I'D LOVE TO HEAR YOUR THOUGHTS ON THE BEGINNING OF THIS.
> 
> title by Get out Alive by Three Days Grace


End file.
